—
Hell Hath Plenty of Fury
The Ides of October
"Emrys—"
Merlin looked up, the voice breaking him from his concentration. His eyes swept Gaius' empty chambers as he tried fruitlessly to pinpoint its origin. He pushed aside his empty lunch bowl, puzzling over the sound as it echoed dimly in his mind, fading away.
It was certainly odd, and it left his instincts tingling. Just in case, he pointed a finger at his tunic and unraveled the glamour spell, which had previously turned the cloth from blue into black. He was having a difficult time mastering this particular spell, and had taken to practicing whenever he could steal a moment away. Strangely enough, the issue wasn't that it was too complex—in fact, it was likely too simple. Without much effort, he kept accidentally magiking his clothes invisible.
As things stood, his disguise might not turn out so well if he needed an impromptu wardrobe change.
The voice came again, and this time Merlin stood and moved for the entrance. While it was still weak, it was louder, which meant whoever was sending it was getting closer. His hand was halfway to the knob when the door blew open, and Elyan burst in carrying an old woman with badly burned legs. Frenzied, he asked, "Can you help her?"
Merlin leapt into action, quickly sweeping clean the spare cot and ushering Elyan forward. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Elyan said, stepping back as Merlin pushed past him for the jar of balsam resin and a bundle of bandages. "We found her face down in the forest." Elyan, obviously worried, was pressed into the wall as Merlin moved past again, now fully focused on the elder woman. Her dress had charred to the knees, and bits of darkened fabric had clung to the red blisters on her shins.
Her eyes were cracked open, and this time when she said "Emrys," Merlin heard her clearly, if only in his mind.
His gaze connected with hers and immediately he knew. These burns were no accident. This was the work of a concentrated inferno, and this elder witch had lived the terrible moment every magic user feared. She was weak not just from pain, she had used more than all her strength to escape the pyre.
Merlin paused in his rush to help her, and sent whatever comfort he could through their magical link, and his hand wrapped around hers. Feebly she reached up, fingers tickling at a cord around her neck, and he gave her a subtle nod. Whatever it was, he'd find a way to take care of it.
And then her body went slack. Her eyelids drooped, her arm flopped onto her stomach, and her jaw fell open.
The bitter smell of death filled the air, but that wasn't what brought the tears to his eyes.
Arthur stood on the open-air balcony of his Solar, staring blankly toward the training green below. The lawn had steadily emptied as evening rapidly grew nearer, but he hardly noticed the changes. His mouth was tilted down in a frown, and his eyes were glazed.
Guinevere, dressed in a beautiful maroon, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him from behind. "What is troubling you, Arthur?"
His frown deepened. "I don't feel like celebrating."
"It's the anniversary of the day of your birth," Guinevere propped her chin on his shoulder and softly said, "allow us to celebrate the fair and just king we are so thankful to have received."
"It is also the anniversary of my coronation," it went unsaid that this night one wheel ago he had held his fatally-wounded father in his arms, "I miss him." To the wind he whispered, "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of him."
Guinevere sighed, and then she nuzzled into the space under his ear. "He built this kingdom for you," she murmured quietly, "and every day it loves you more."
A faint knock from the lower chambers distracted them, and they both looked to the spiral stair. Whoever was calling knocked again with a rapid tap-tap, and Arthur led them down into their bedroom, curious now. Moments later Merlin opened the door anyways, and Arthur was so surprised he blurted, "You knocked?"
After hearing his voice, Elyan poked his head in as well, and his presence explained the uncommon deference for the rules. Merlin slunk into a corner.
"We found a presumed witch severely injured in the forest," Elyan began, walking into the room and closing the ornate door behind him. "She was attacked, and Percival has gone to the nearby villages to find out why."
"Presumed?" Arthur's face hardened, and Elyan paused. The knight reached into his pocket and pulled out a horn that dangled from a weathered, beaten leather cord.
"She died soon after arriving in Camelot, but before she did, she reached for this." Elyan held it out, "Gaius said it was called…" he trailed off, looking to Merlin.
"The Horn of Cathbhadh," Merlin finished while Elyan nodded along. "Supposedly the priestesses used it for rituals in the old religion, but it disappeared during the Purge."
Arthur took it, holding the magical artifact warily away from his body. Strange symbols were carved onto the old bone, and its craftsmanship was impeccable. It was small enough to fit into the palm of his hand. "Would it have saved her?"
Elyan shook his head, but Merlin answered. "Gaius says it was used to call the dead."
"I see," Arthur said seriously, turning it over in his hands as his eyes went vacant again. He wondered what it meant to call the dead, and he wondered if you got to choose whom you called. "I can see why she was tempted to use it."
The group was silent until Guinevere made herself known with a hand on his elbow. "Perhaps it would be best kept in the vaults," she suggested.
"Yes," Arthur said, trying to hide his illegal intrigue. The laws were his own to uphold, yet he was always willing to throw them aside in cases that benefited himself. That was wrong. "I'll take it myself," he said to the room, putting the horn in his own pocket. And then, because everyone was looking to him, he said, "Elyan, have you reported this to Leon?" When his brother-in-law shook his head Arthur explained, "We can't have our citizens taking the law into their own hands. It's a steep slope to anarchy. Leon will have to ask the knights if they've heard of any further unrest during patrols."
Elyan nodded, accepting his orders. Guinevere's eyes flickered between Arthur and Merlin, and she seamlessly found an excuse to leave with her brother. Hopefully she knew he would never have lied in her presence, but, then again, she could always tell when he needed some space to think.
When they were alone, Merlin said, voice with the tone of a warning despite his efforts to hide it, "Arthur…."
"What?"
"It's dangerous if used incorrectly," he said carefully, obviously referencing the horn now hidden in his trousers. "If you're thinking about using it—"
Arthur cut him off. "I'm not."
"Let me finish," Merlin said with a sigh. "Because I know you. If you're thinking about using it, don't go alone."
Arthur frowned, wanting to believe he wouldn't be tempted, but knowing he already was. Guiltily, he looked to Merlin. "I'll tell you if I change my mind."
Merlin seemed to accept that for now, and Arthur changed the topic away before Merlin could demand more. "What do you know about the sorceress?"
Merlin's face did something strange, "I think she was innocent of everything except for having magic."
Arthur looked carefully at his friend. Merlin was so hard to read sometimes. But if what he said were true, then this also was true: the dead woman was no different than many of the Druids already living within his borders—druids he knew were peaceful and had promised to defend.
That was too much to deal with right now, though, especially when he'd spent an afternoon remembering the hopelessness he'd felt while watching his father die from Dragoon's false healing spell. He sighed, doing his best to shake it off. "Can you go grab my crown? We've got to get to the feast."
The Great Hall's evening decorations did not reflect the dour mood that had overtaken most of the day that had preceded it.
Arthur made a pleasant speech, not one for the history books, but he had hit the notes expected of him, and it seemed to please both the nobles and the serving staff. The long tables of the Hall were filled with many walks of life, from the raucous knights to the simpering ladies of the court, and they clapped and cheered and laughed together as the celebration continued. Miri winked at him from across the room, where she was serving Mistress Vanora, and Merlin waved with his jug of watered down wine. Everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves.
Not long into the main course things became less structured, as was usual during celebrations, and Merlin gave up tending servilely to the king and queen. He was just putting down the jug and grabbing a bite to eat himself when cold metal tapped against the back of his neck.
He jolted and whirled, scowling at a grinning Gwaine who held up a mostly empty tankard of ale. Despite the state of the mug, and the happiness of his friend, the red blush of true drunkenness had not appeared on Gwaine's cheeks.
"Tell me a story," Gwaine said immediately, shoving some space for them on a bench, "one with princesses and dragons." He chortled at his own joke.
Merlin quirked a smile, "I don't have any quite like that."
Gwaine snorted in good humour. "Sure," he drawled. "Did I ever tell you about the time I convinced a man he was colorblind?"
Merlin stuffed some bread in his mouth and delighted at the taste. "I remember you came out of it a few gold coins richer," he jumped, then, an old memory resurfacing in his mind. A slow grin spread on his face and he turned to Gwaine with a sneaky look in his eye. "You haven't heard about when a goblin got loose in the castle, have you?"
Gwaine quirked a brow, simultaneously looking around for a place he could get a refill. "Flatulence was rampant throughout the royal family...Uther went bald," Merlin continued throughout the lack of attention, grinning wider as Gwaine slowly forgot everything else around them until the knight stared at him wide-eyed, "Arthur was turned into a donkey—"
Gwaine slammed his empty goblet down on the wooden table, seizing Merlin by the shoulders, lost utterly in his own elation. "Tell me, now!"
The two men were soon oblivious to the party around them, and Gwen watched their heads, bent together with a fond smile on her face. At the head table there weren't many people to associate with, but she was happy to relax into her chair and enjoy the ambiance of the room.
Percival was absent—presumably spending the night at one of the nearby villages. Her brother looked like he was having a grand time listening as Sir Vidor held court over a group of knights, boisterous laughter rising from the group in occasional bursts. As Captain of the Guard, Leon was seated near her, but he appeared distracted by Arthur's disappearance, and was frowning at the door.
Gwen was less worried. True, Arthur had claimed to be visiting the outhouses, and it was also true that he had been gone now for much longer than normal, but she knew what he had truly slipped off to do. While most of Camelot was busy reveling in his crowning, he would use the distraction to visit the barrows. Arthur was not usually one to talk to headstones, but she was certain he just needed some time to be close to his father—or whatever Uther had been when he wasn't busy being bitter and rude.
The door to the Great Hall swung slowly open, and Leon perked up. No one passed through, however, and the grand wood continued steadily, dragging across the stone until it notched against the back wall.
Immediately the temperature dropped a few degrees, presumably as the heat built up from their bodies escaped into the cooler corridors of the castle. She rubbed a hand along the long sleeve of her gown.
The banners on the walls fluttered, rippling in an invisible wind, and then began to billow in sequence. Gwen exchanged a look with Leon, both eyeing the strange flutterings. Then she felt her suspicion collapse into dread as she realized that Arthur had not taken her advice. He had used the horn, and what was happening now may very well be a side effect of its magic. She gripped Leon's forearm. "Clear the room, Leon, and find Arthur."
A large C-R-A-C-K, and Leon reacted quick enough to pull her away—the heavy wood of their table splintering and falling inward. Some of the others shouted in surprise, but their shouts turned to screams as the food before them upended itself, plates flying through the air to be dashed on the walls, and striking servants, nobles, and knights alike. "I'm fine, Leon, go!"
He gave her one concerned look, but nodded briskly. He leapt their broken table in a single bound, shouting orders at the knights and guards disciplined enough to listen for them. The feast became a throng of bodies as people began to stampede for the few doors. A chair flew over their heads, shattering into pieces from the force.
Despite it she stood strong, trying to find an oddity in the chaos. In case Arthur himself wasn't the source, there would be another, here, somewhere—
Her attention was pulled by the chandelier beginning to sway, the candles on its rims beginning to sputter and go out. The light threw shadows along the wall, and she saw through them as a servant girl tripped and fell, tangled in the clutter that now littered the floor. Above her one of the newer tapestries—a tasteful one that Gwen herself had picked out—began to creak warningly on its wooden beams.
Gwen rushed forward, picking up speed. Her own arms wrapped around the servant's, throwing them both out of the path of the heavy cloth and the thick pillar of wood that came crashing down only moments later.
The girl was so panicked that she could barely breathe, much less speak, and she tugged at Gwen's hand. She pulled them towards one of the servant passageways that Gwen knew led to the kitchens.
As they moved Gwen's eyes tracked the room again, now looking for familiar faces. She caught a flash of Merlin, and she raised an arm to catch his attention. His profile had stood out in the crowd, one of the few solitary figures, and he turned sharply when he saw her hand wave.
Obvious relief swept over him, and he was just reaching an arm out to her when his eyes widened. He yelled something in warning, and Gwen had a fraction of time for her stomach to clench, and then she felt pain bloom from the back of her skull to the tips of her nose.
She had one beat to feel the blood pounding through her veins, burning at her cheeks and brow, so consuming to her senses that she imagined she smelt the coppery tang of it, and then her eyes rolled to the back of her head.
She was unconscious before her knees even hit the ground.
Merlin bolted forward, heart in his throat, reaming himself out for letting Arthur and then Gwen out of his sight when he knew that Arthur was going to use that horn. Argh, he'd turned away from Gwen for only a second.
He slid into the space beside her, pushing aside the metal shield that had spun midair and careened for her head. He probed the back of her hair quickly, checking his fingers for blood, and was relieved to find none.
He bundled her into his arms, ducked his head, and muttered scildan under his breath to protect them with an invisible shield of air as he hurried her into the relative safety of the hallway.
Though it was quieter here, the ruckus in the Great Hall was noticeably dying down. He watched as the room cleared, and as the ghostly temper tantrum waned to only the rustle of the Pendragon banners and then silence. This would be the opportune moment to investigate what spirit or spirits may still be in there and banish them, but Gwen groaned in his arms, and Merlin decided that her safety was more important right now.
He took the main halls to the Physician's Chambers, hoping to catch Arthur roaming, but no such luck. Gwen first, he reminded himself, Arthur is fine. If he were hurt, the sigil would have triggered. This was exactly what he made the halfpenny for, after all, to protect Arthur from afar through Excalibur's scabbard.
Merlin kicked open the door for the East Tower and took the steps two at a time, and then shoved his way into their chambers. Gaius was already there, patching up a young knight that had been gouged by a falling axe. The knight gaped at the queen in Merlin's arms, but Gaius took it in stride, tying off the wrapping with nimble fingers before turning sharply to spread open Gwen's eyelids.
"Is the queen alright?" The knight stammered.
"She'll be fine," Merlin said and then ordered, "Go tell Leon she's with us."
The knight nodded and hurried off while Merlin explained to Gaius how she'd been struck. "Grind me some mugwort," Gaius said, now probing at the back of Gwen's head. "There is some swelling. We need to get that down to see if you need to heal her."
Hopefully he wouldn't have to. He didn't want a trial run with a new healing spell to be on a head injury. Merlin grabbed a sprig of the thin-leaved plant from their window and set swiftly to chopping it. He only needed a few drops of oil to turn it into a paste, and he carried the concoction cupped in his hand back to Gwen.
Gaius moved aside when he passed by and then returned to the workshop table, pulling ingredients from all over while setting some water to boil. "Arthur used the horn, didn't he?"
"I think so," Merlin said. "Any idea what kind of spirit could have come through?"
"If Arthur didn't know what he was doing, then anything, but if he called someone specific…." Gaius stopped, and he and Merlin shared a look.
"It has to be Uther," Merlin said, spitting the words. "Only he would attack Gwen." He finished with the paste and rose to his full height, glaring. "I'm not going to let him hurt anyone else."
The sound of steps pounding in the hall, and then the physician's doors burst open for a third time that day. It was Gwaine, and he looked like he had been running. "Arthur's not in the castle," he said, the words leaving his mouth before he was even all the way in the room. "We don't know where he is." His eyes flickered to Gaius and the fully knocked-out queen, but they didn't stop him from asking, "Do you think Kilgharrah could find him?"
Merlin's features arranged into a steely resolve. "Probably," he said, "but I can do one better."
Gaius watched from his periphery, face creased with worry, as Merlin leaned his hip against the table and removed his boot. He held it over his open hand and shook a halfpenny into his palm. "What's that for?" the knight asked immediately.
"Gwaine," Merlin prepared, voice steady, "there are a few things that come hand-in-hand with being a dragonlord that I've been meaning to tell you about." He dropped his boot on the ground, slipping his foot back in while he eyed his friend. "Are you ready to hear this?"
"I've been ready," Gwaine replied. He moved from the doorway and let the heavy wood shut behind him. It was three steps until he stood before his friend.
Merlin stretched his hand out so the coin was positioned between them. Gaius was gripping the worktable with white knuckles, having completely given up the pretense of forming a draught for their patient, but Merlin ignored his mentor's fears. He lowered his lids and inhaled, I'm ready too. "Then let's find Arthur."
When he opened his eyes, they burned a brilliant gold.
The clouds rolled onto the waxing moon, and a wave of darkness overtook Camelot's graveyard. Arthur stood in the shadowed grounds, oblivious to what had occurred in the Great Hall after he had blown the horn, and staring down at his father's grave.
At first he had berated himself for trusting a supposedly magical artifact to even work, and then he had condemned himself for using it in the first place. In the end, he regretted its failure and wished for a chance to speak one last time with the man who had loved him.
A chill touched his shoulder, and when he shivered and shifted, he caught a glimpse of the impossible. "Father?"
"My son," Uther said, bobbing slightly as his body floated. He glided to hover over his grave. "I have taken a closer look at our kingdom while I've had the chance."
Arthur brightened, "I hope I've made you proud; Camelot is prospering and there is a chance for peace in Albion. I think I'm close—"
"I do love you, Arthur, but you've been a naive idealist since your childhood. How can I be proud when I see countless common-born men serving in your ranks, Druids within our borders, and a servant as a queen?" Uther glared, "You are destroying my legacy with these weak stances."
Arthur's breath caught in his throat. Surely he hadn't disappointed his father this drastically? Not when Camelot was safe? "Guinevere is a worthy queen. She is strong and wise beyond her years."
"She will never be respected!" Uther growled. "Her existence by your side weakens your rule. Your need to trust others and raise their standing to equal yours weakens it further. You will lose your kingdom unless you give that up." Uther spoke earnestly, his empty, cold hand touching him again. "It's not too late to change."
Aghast at the words coming from his father's mouth, Arthur fought back again, trying to convince him through reason. "I would rather not rule at all than rule alone. Together, everyone in the Round Table makes Camelot stronger because people believe in us, and because we believe in the strength of our people." Since when had his beliefs varied so drastically from his father's? He remembered disagreeing occasionally, but nothing quite like this. "I understand we have differences, but fairness and justice are as worthy of platforms to stand on as the spear against evils was yours. I don't want to rule through fear."
Uther sneered. "Fear is the only way to obtain respect. You are the defender of the realm, not its friendly uncle." His ghost began to retreat, eyeing the castle. "I didn't spend my life building this kingdom, earning our namesake, to have my own son destroy it." Dangerously, he muttered, "It is always better to rule alone."
The look in Uther's eye frightened Arthur in a way he had not been prepared for. "What have you done?" He asked, his hand gripping Excalibur. When Uther didn't answer he drew the sword, threatening his own blood once again—Morgana, Agravaine, and now his own father—as he defended those he had learned to love. "What have you done?"
"You'll thank me later, when your rationality has returned." Uther snarled, his disdain palpable, and then he disappeared, fading into the darkness. "Rest now. I will take care of things in your stead, until you are better prepared to take my mantle."
"Father, no!" Arthur yelled, now wildly swinging Excalibur through the space his father had once stood in. "We can discuss this like men. Don't—" Something cold slithered into the back of his throat and he choked on it. It numbed his tongue, then his skin, and finally his brain. Weakened and lethargic, Arthur was forced to allow the blanket of sleep to smother him.
Almost instantly after Arthur's body crumpled, a wave of magic rippled through the barrows, powerful enough to tousle Arthur's golden hair and prickle even Uther's skin.
"You monster," a voice said from the black.
Wary, and focused on this new danger, Uther turned from his son to find this threat's source. He was no stranger to sorcerers, and he would defeat this one as he had many others. His body became corporeal again, and he used the imposing strength of this form to draw the evildoer towards him.
While he was distracted by the voice, the flash of a fast-moving sword came from behind him and Uther dodged by instinct, pushing with the energy imbued with his spirit. The knight that had held the sword tumbled to the ground, but the other voice came again, this time from much nearer. "You evil, self-centered tyrant."
Uther turned with a scowl to find a peasant boy glaring at him, with fury in his expression and magic in his eyes. Arthur's manservant, he remembered vaguely, Gaius' boy. "A sorcerer, all these years within the walls of my castle?" He raged, putting his arms in the air and gathering his ghostly strength. No surprise that Gaius had never given up the evil art, and that he had been hiding this poison under his wing all this time. "I will not let your kind ruin my kingdom!"
Uther screamed, flying forward to throttle the foolish creature standing protectively over Arthur. The young man shouted himself, an invisible force pushing Uther back into the path of the recovered knight. "We meet again, old man," the knight said.
Coldly, the serving boy called, "You have done enough harm in life. Camelot was happy to be rid of you, and she does not wish for your return."
The knight's sword came at him again, but Uther was not prepared to fight back. He was able to dodge the first few thrusts, but then the knight swiveled on his feet, his sword changing hands mid-swing and striking upwards in an unexpected and formerly impossible angle.
Uther felt the sting as if it had pierced true skin and he gasped, freezing in his attacks. Through the tearing pain he hissed, "A useless serving boy and his commoner sidekick will never drive me away."
"Perhaps not, but I will." It was muffled, but the words were strong. Where Arthur had once fell, he was now propped against the serving boy's arm as he pushed himself to standing. It looked like it tore him apart to say it, but Arthur spoke anyway. "You think you ruled through fear, but it was your own fears, and your hatred of them, that brought about your downfall. A good king learns from his mistakes."
Quietly, Arthur drew the Horn of Cathbhadh from his pocket, now standing on his own. Uther took a step back as Arthur took a step forward. "Everything I have done is for the love of Camelot, and my love of you."
Arthur shook his head, hurt writ across his regal features. "You are no longer the person I loved and respected."
The horn fell from his fingers, "Arthur, I—" but Arthur crushed it beneath his boot.
Oblivion reached for him. Uther's last words rotted in his throat, his voice becoming the dry rustle of the long-dead leaves covering his tombstone. As he weakened, fell, and faded, he looked out to his son standing proud from the far end of the field.
At each of his shoulders— the gleaming sword of a commoner and the golden eyes of a sorcerer. Here stood Uther's hubris, personified.
"Goodbye, father."
Here stood destiny's vanguard.
Footnotes:
(1) Premise of this week is borrowed from Episode 5.3 The Death Song of Uther Pendragon. Some lines of dialogue were pulled and repurposed. It's such a great episode for showing Arthur's development; I had to steal it.
(2) Valdis is an old sorceress from that episode who gives Arthur the horn. In the show he prevents her from being burned on a pyre, but in the end she dies anyways from sickness.
(3) Horn of Cathbhadh is also from the episode. I shrunk it down in size so it was a more reasonable thing for an old woman to keep hidden.
(4) The halfpenny sigil is explained in P1: Half-Penny Hero, and mentioned in P1: Itsy Bitsy Spiders, and Cell Block Tango.
(5) Scildan is a shield spell used a handful of times both verbally and non-verbally in the show.
Author's Note:
Hope you all don't mind I stole an episode, even if it's different. I was worried, but Jewels did quip at me that all fanfiction is technically stealing, and how right that is! I hope you don't mind, and that you enjoyed the (many) changes from the original. Thanks to the lovely Jewels for giving me that boost in confidence, and thanks to my wonderful beta Linorien for helping me avoid plot holes and character inconsistencies this time! Huge turnout in reviewers this week, just wow, and PMs inbound for all you great, great Merlin fans.
I personally enjoyed something here. It technically does nothing but offer me amusement. In Ch.5 of P1, Gwaine and Merlin were working together to stop the brollachan, but Gwaine was oblivious. And now, in P2's Ch.5, that's been turned on its head. Gwaine finally knows and I'm so excited. So. Unbelievably. Excited.
FINALLY!
Unfortunately, guys, I am going to be out of the country for over a week. So, I won't be able to post next Sunday. I'll have to push the update until Thursday night next week. Also, Linorien has been a great help with helping me get Chapter 6 situated, it really needs some revamps, so that should give me time to do that and get Chapter 7 a bit more together.
Next Time: Reunion Tour. Merthur bonding as Arthur deals with what happened in the graveyard, and the Leshy finally checks in on Morgana.